


of broken glass

by theophilus



Series: porcelain [1]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Blood and Gore, Eating Disorders, Keo models, M/M, Model AU, Murder, Self-Harm, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 22:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theophilus/pseuds/theophilus
Summary: He has it etched into his pupilsof broken glass and hazed glorythat he knowsthat he sees the crumbling ivorythrough the mirrorshattered with deceit





	1. 1-2

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually sequel story to an old series I wrote on AFF. It can also be read as a stand-alone so you don't actually have to read it, unless you really want to. 
> 
> Please read at your own discretion? It was written three years ago so it's not very good: [Cracked Porcelain](http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/559203/cracked-porcelain-hyuk-vixx-hongbin-navi-keo-hyukbin)  
> I finally gathered the courage to post on here, so here I am. (this is also cross posted on AFF) Hope you enjoy!
> 
> ~Bean-p.

### I. 

 

he walks with the fog clouding tendrils beneath his feet  
into the woods where the monster sleeps  
where the dreams of the sky and dying sheep  
drifts him forward before he leaps 

 

Jaehwan is freezing, standing under the bright neon sign of the bus stop for nearly an hour. Rain rushes down in sheets around his all too small umbrella. Patches of his shoulders are soaked dark and stick like children's glue to his frigid skin. He checks his phone once again, feeling a familiar boil of anger as the pit of his stomach. 

 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" 

"What are you talking about?" Hyunwoo sounds nothing close to apologetic, "Did the casting go well?" 

"What the fuck do you think?” Jaehwan tries to keep his teeth from chattering, livid, “I take three and a half hours to get here for another fucking scam?” 

“It seemed reliable when I contacted them.” 

“If this is how you look for gigs, maybe I’m better off my own agent,” he has to lower his voice as he steps onto the bus, shaking the rain water off, “for the record- they were looking for female go-go dancers.” 

“Okay I know you’re mad, but I just found another gig. This one’s a real one I promise.” 

Jaehwan rolls his eyes. This is the closest he ever gets to even a half assed apology from Hyunwoo. He slumps down into one of the elevated plush chairs in the back of the bus with a sigh.  
“Where is it.” 

“Luckily, your hometown. It’s a local clothing company named QULO. They’re looking for a few male models for their Spring line,” Hyunwoo sounds like he’s reading off a Craigslist ad. 

“Sounds like a scam.” 

“I’ll link you their website and details and set up an appointment. You can decide then if you’re going or not.” 

Jaehwan considers the thought. “Just send me the details. I’ll think about it.” 

///

Jaehwan stares hard into the frizzy obstacles and jagged lines that sits on his professor's head. It looks like a grey bush that sways along the movement of breeze, and as Mrs. Kim (at least, he thinks that's her name) turns her head back and forth, an avalanche of perm follows through. 

Her voice is a low, nasally drone that hums across the lecture hall through the half working microphone clipped to the lapel of her blazer. He turns his attention back to the sketchbook which lies haphazardly over the papers and empty worksheets that litter the desk. 

A half finished rib cage- still decomposing, dripping red and fresh yellow stained bones awaits Jaehwan's completion. Instead, he promptly tears the page out and rips it in half. Then, he rips that half in half, and then all the others. The boy in front of him turns and shoots him a brief glare. Jaehwan smiles in response but it doesn't stop him. He continues this, until he has a mountain of white flakes. As Mrs. Kim finally dismisses class, he leaves the pile of fragments undisturbed on his way out. Jaehwan is never really good at puzzles anyway. 

He doesn't go to class the next day. Or the day after that. 

///

“Sorry I’m late!” 

Jaehwan’s concentration is torn from the metallic camera lens as a series of clanking and crashes radiate from the door of the studio. At the doorway crouches a young man, with soft brown curls swooped into a small bun. As he rights the pieces of back drops from another project, a few strands slide over his round wide eyes and he tucks it back. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he's stammering, cheeks dimpling into his grimace. Jaehwan feels his blood begin to boil as assistants flock over to help the flustered man with the squeaking dolly that has rolled over towards the set. 

“No worries,” the photographer (who’s name escapes him) is smiling fondly, “go ahead and start makeup.” 

Jaehwan fights the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes. He catches each time the photographer steals glances at this new young man that sits in the corner, patient as the makeup artists sweeps his eyelids with colour. There’s a tightness that pulls at Jaehwan’s throat and he ignores it, letting the flashes of the camera consume him into a white noise- thumbs tucked into the pockets of jeans that fit too tightly around his thighs. 

“I’m Lee Hongbin,” with his makeup done, his eyes look sharper, less doe-like with the gold flecks that taper into points. The messy bun is now swept into a half ponytail, almost making him look like he has a mullet. His smile is the shape of an orange wedge, pearly teeth shining under the studio lighting. 

“Lee Jaehwan,” he shakes Hongbin’s hand, “but you can call me Ken.” 

Jaehwan eyes the young man up and down again, “how old are you?” 

“Eighteen.” 

“Then you can call me Ken-hyung.” 

Hongbin beams another generic smile. Jaehwan finds it unnerving how Hongbin’s eyes never crinkle – he just stares with eyes wide like a dead fish. He wonders if he sticks his finger into Hongbin’s dimple, if he would lose his finger into it. 

“Okay. Nice to meet you Ken-hyung.” 

Jaehwan smiles. He hates him. 

“Nice to meet you too.” 

///

“So what made you take up modelling?” Hongbin asks, breaking the silence that has crossed through their otherwise peaceful walk down the dim lighted streets. The street lamps have just turned on, people walking home and holding their jackets closer at the biting autumn cold. Jaehwan isn’t too sure why he agrees to accompany Hongbin to a bar- a wonder crosses his mind how Hongbin would be allowed in, being under aged. Then again, Jaehwan tends to agree to anything involving alcohol these days. 

Jaehwan shrugs, “Just felt like it I guess.” 

He stares hard at the expression on Hongbin’s face. Jaehwan can’t be sure if it’s because they’re walking or if Hongbin’s jaw is clenched closed too tightly. His eyes, no longer sharp with makeup, stare straight forwards, like he’s staring at something that isn’t there. 

“Must be nice to think of it so freely,” Hongbin’s expression changes into another generic half smile that never meets his eyes. Jaehwan feels his stomach churn. 

“I wouldn’t really judge strangers like that you know,” Jaehwan smiles back, “who knows? Maybe I have a kidnapper forcing me into this against my will.”  
Hongbin laughs – a loud boisterous noise that echoes into the empty night. Jaehwan can almost see the reverberations echo across the emptying streets. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his worn coat as they walk the rest of the way in silence. 

The pub isn't too busy on a Thursday night with space still left at the bar. It still bustles with life and clinking glasses, as the tinny base around Drake's monotonous singing plays in the background. Jaehwan has been here enough times himself, perhaps one time too many. He nudges Hongbin next to him. 

"How’re you gonna drink when you don't have ID?" 

Hongbin's cheeks dimple in response, and Jaehwan lets himself get pulled towards the rounded seats (with the plastic peeling off) that surround the bar table. 

"Hey," Hongbin calls to the bartender, who turns back with a smile. 

"Hey yourself," the man slides towards them, polishing a highball glass with a white rag, "the usual?" 

"Make it two." Hongbin winks, and Jaehwan can all but hold in his vomit. 

By the time they make it to the fourth shot, they're both more or less tipsy- a comfortable Jaehwan finds himself in often. It’s a good neutral he can get to without feeling overly vulnerable, but enough to still ground himself to reality. 

“I actually hate my job,” Hongbin admits. Jaehwan finds his face less unnerving when he’s tipsy, but the look in his eyes doesn’t change, “I hate how everyone does things for me or gives me things just because I’m good looking.” 

“Then why do you do it?” He asks, picking at the lint that sticks to his sleeves. 

Hongbin looks as if he’s at a loss, swirling the melting ice at the bottom of his glass. 

“Who knows,” he finally smiles, “maybe I also have someone forcing me into it.” 

Jaehwan lets the topic drop then, taking another shot of what now tastes like water. It feels stuffier in the bar but he keeps his coat on, mingling voices and deep base pound in his head. 

His head still pounds when he’s back home, curled up at the edge of the bed with his phone in hand, thumb hovered over Hongbin’s phone number. It’s way past midnight and the dregs of alcohol has steeped out of his body ages ago. He sighs and tosses his phone onto the bedside table, throwing an arm over his face. 

He dreams of dead fish eyes and orange slices that night. 

 

### II. 

 

Jaehwan has good days and bad days. The soft hum of the bathroom settles into his glowing skin under the dim light overhead. He stands naked in front of the mirror, toes curling at the coolness that seeps from the crack of the door. 

He feels like shit. 

The mirror is a dark void of sludge, leaking at the sides with blood seeping between tiles on the wall, millions of eyes decorate the edge of the frame. Creatures of all sizes twist inside the mirror, crawling in a tangled hideous mess, tentacles on claws and beady eyes with scales. 

Jaehwan finds himself yet again in the same position, palms pressed against the toilet seat, the smell of plaster and vomit filling his nose. He doesn't remember how he ended up there. He coughs twice and flushes the toilet, managing to stagger to his feet. His knees feel like jelly and he supports himself with a hand on the counter. 

There's a discarded magazine in the trash, half covered with empty containers of aspirin and cigarette packages. He squints and pulls the magazine out of the litter, gazing at the front page. Another one of those skinny male models adorns the cover; this man's eyes are shaped like almonds, like the ones he ate for dinner last night. Jet black hair slicked back accentuating the sharpness of his gaze. Pretty features and pretty legs- disgusting. He tears the magazine cover in half and throws it back towards the general area of the garbage can. 

Jaehwan has his good days and his bad days. Today isn’t a good one. 

///

The next time Jaehwan meets Hongbin again, it's three months later at a party. Techno music blasts loudly into the speakers near the stage, glistening with bright neon lights blinding the audience behind. The DJ flickers through EDM and hypnotic beats throughout the club. Cameras flash, and voices cheer as each model walks down the stage. 

Jaehwan is looking at Hongbin's back from behind the curtain as he walks down the front aisle, wearing a half buttoned up white dress shirt and black slacks. If Jaehwan could describe the boy, it would be hypnotic. Long legs and square shoulders, a body lean and stiff around the edges. On a turned heel, he stalks back towards the curtains. He looks different with shorter hair, dyed a dark natural black, bangs hanging just over his eyebrows. Eyeliner angles his round eyes, with foundation blended seamlessly on because Jaehwan knows his skin isn't that perfect- as perfect as Hongbin may seem. 

He almost misses his queue to step on stage when someone behind him pushes him forward. With a indignant sigh, he pulls forward into the flashing white lights. 

 

Jaehwan finds Hongbin sitting with his head leaning against the back of a black leather sofa in the dressing room, half a can of Cass beer in his hand. The music is muted, albeit slightly booming through the speakers installed into the roof of the rooms. Bottles of liquor litter the insides of the counters, makeup scattered alongside empty cans and shot glasses. Everyone else left off to enjoy the rest of the night under the loud music and grinding skin and sweat. Jaehwan opts out of that for once. 

"Didn't know you went to these casting parties," he sits, leather pants squeaking on leather as he finds a comfortable position. 

Hongbin gives him a half smile in response. "Doesn't everyone?" he takes another three gulps of his beer, his Adam's apple pulsing with every swallow. Jaehwan kicks back another shot of vodka, letting the blanket of haze fill behind his eyes. 

"Your stage was good," he comments, gazing at the empty glass shot cup between his fingers. 

"Shut up," Hongbin rolls his eyes, but he reaches for the bottle of vodka and fills the emptiness in Jaehwan's glass, not without pouring himself one. 

"Yours was good too," Hongbin says, after another three (or maybe four?) shots. His voice is small, the bass in his tone shaking with uncertainty. Jaehwan catches that. 

"Don't lie," he scoffs, he lets the bitterness of alcohol sink down his throat, "don't be nice if you don't mean it." 

Hongbin starts to laugh then, and Jaehwan doesn't understand why. The young man doubles over, dimples cut so deep it can almost be mistaken for a crack into ivory porcelain. 

"You're weird," he wipes the tears that stain the edges of his eyeliner, words starting to slur, "Hyung, you're so weird." 

"You're the one who's weird," Jaehwan murmurs, "laughing at nothing." 

He knows none of their words really make sense anymore- he stares straight into the darkness of Hongbin's eyes, wide and unwavering, perhaps a little too close to his own. 

"Hyung," Hongbin's voice is soft, and even under the booming background of the music Jaehwan is close enough to hear it. "Do you believe in perfection?" 

Almost as if from a movie scene, the music seems to fade off, leaving only the blood pounding in his ears. Hongbin is closer now, doe-like eyes hooded, irises dilated and lips taut, glistening with lip gloss. The dead look in his eyes is gone, perhaps from the alcohol or whatever else, but it's peeled free and all that's left is him – raw and alive. Jaehwan almost believes in it then. 

"There's no such thing." 

He doesn't remember who moved first but he remembers Hongbin's hands tangling into the hair behind his head when their lips touch. It's wet and messy, hands roaming and slow drunken tongues slide together. Hongbin pushes against him, a desperate whine falling past into Jaehwan's throat, his hands bunched into the fabric of his fleece sweater and Jaehwan grasps them, hard. 

"Not here," he says, against Hongbin's lips, forehead resting against his. 

"Yours?" Hongbin is breathless, with soft pants hot against Jaehwan's skin. He manages a quick nod and they're both to their feet. Hongbin grabbing for the bottle of vodka and Jaehwan tucks a half empty bottle of  
Chardonnay in his bag, both sputtering with inebriated laughter as they stumble out of the club. 

The taxi ride home goes by in a blur and so does the rest of the Chardonnay- we all know not to mix our liquors but drunk Jaehwan doesn't seem to mind, and neither does Hongbin. He notices how Hongbin's laugh is like a bark, loud and unapologetic like fresh wind cutting through still air. Almost as he's compensating more than he has. 

They waste no time unravelling out of skin tight jeans and silk button downs, sweat sticking to fabric and skin against skin. Jaehwan can feel the muscles of Hongbin's thighs tense and shake under his palms, heated hands tangled in the tresses of his hair. Hongbin's soft gasps and hitched panting crescendoes above Jaehwan as his slides the flat of his tongue against the underside of Hongbin's length. He looks up, past the plane of toned muscles and glistening neck, meeting Hongbin's eyes as he engulfs his lips full of him. Jaehwan's lips twitch upwards at the sharp intake of breath, lips gaped open and a desperate tug in his hair. He doesn't feel like teasing today – not with the straining against the fabric of his briefs. He starts straight into a steady rhythmic pace, fingers digging into the soft underside of Hongbin's thighs. 

"Please," Hongbin's voice is choked, hollow and much more vulnerable than Jaehwan has ever heard it. It's desperate, filled with more than just desire. Jaehwan pulls back then, wiping at the saliva that drips down his chin. 

"Lay down," he commands and surprisingly, Hongbin obeys. Jaehwan is used to seeing him with more bite- a young man with hard eyes and stiff around the edges. Hongbin is different here- cut raw and crumbling into Jaehwan's bed sheets. Jaehwan pulls out a bottle of lube from his bedside table, and he watches the rise and fall of Hongbin's chest and his spread legs, returning the boy's stare with his own. Even through the fog of intoxication he can tell Hongbin knows what he's doing. 

"You've done this before," Jaehwan says. 

"Shut up," the bite in Hongbin's voice is back, but he isn't looking at him. 

Jaehwan presses the bottle into the palm of Hongbin's hand, "prep yourself." 

His words are less a command, more curiosity. He sits at the foot of the bed, crossing his legs under him. Hongbin looks stricken, eyes trained on to the bottle in his hands. Jaehwan notes his hesitation. 

"Come on," he urges gently, "I mean if you don't want to-" 

"Stop talking," Hongbin hisses, and he lifts his knees to his chest, slathering a good amount onto his fingers. Jaehwan immediately closes his mouth, watching as Hongbin dips his pointer finger inside himself, letting out a shaky exhale. Jaehwan's finds his fingers wrapped around himself, and he lazily tugs as Hongbin has his second finger in, soft pants melting into moans. 

When Jaehwan can't take it anymore, he's already muffling Hongbin's moans into his mouth. He kisses him languidly, teeth grazing against Hongbin's bottom lip and he pulls at it gently, eliciting a flutter of lashes against shimmering eyeshadow. Jaehwan pushes in painfully slow, down the hilt, and he watches as Hongbin falls to pieces – eyes rolling to the back of his head and the tensing and relaxing of muscles along his chest. Jaehwan curls a hand behind Hongbin's neck and buries his face into the crook of his collarbone as he slides in and out picking up his pace at every thrust. 

Hongbin is whimpering, nails digging into Jaehwan's shoulder blades, burning white hot and it feels so good. Jaehwan bites into Hongbin's skin, tongue sliding against the beads of sweat against his collar. A pressure builds at the pit of his stomach and he knows he isn't going to last very long. He pulls back to look Hongbin in the face and finds him crying. Unconsciously he slows his pace. 

"No don't stop don't," Hongbin blinks fast through his tears, "Please." 

"Why are you-" 

"Do something for me," Hongbin's voice cracks, choked on his words, "tell me something." 

"Tell you what?" Jaehwan sees Hongbin so whole in front of him, but so shattered with nothing of just a handsome face and everything of just Hongbin. It makes him wonder how he thinks it's so breathtaking to see something so broken. 

"Tell me I'm pretty," Hongbin whispers, eyes squeezed shut, "Tell me I'm perfect." 

"You're pretty, Hongbin," Jaehwan says, voice clipped and breath hitching in the back of his throat. 

"Again." Hongbin gasps, grasping himself with one hand, the other curled into Jaehwan's hip. 

"You're perfect," Jaehwan can feel the burn in his hips and the waves of his orgasm hits him, but he doesn't stop. 

"Again." 

"You're pretty," this time, Jaehwan finds his own voice cracking. Hongbin gasps as he comes undone and Jaehwan rides that through, a hotness of tears find its way down his cheeks at every thrust. Hongbin is broken in so many ways that Jaehwan is not, and everything in Jaehwan is nothing close to Hongbin is beautiful. Even then, he doesn't believe in perfection, even as he whispers it into Hongbin's ear over and over again. 

By the time morning comes, Hongbin is gone. Jaehwan is left with broken shards of mirror and glass, and no one but himself. 

Jaehwan deletes Hongbin's number that afternoon.


	2. 3-4

### III.

When the snow begins to melt into a whirlwind of Spring mornings, Jaehwan has two missed calls: one from his mother, and the other from an unsaved number. He swipes the notifications away and scrolls through Facebook as the morning news blares loudly on his outdated (most likely broken) 12 inch TV. His phone buzzes in his hands and Hyunwoo's caller ID slides over his screen. 

"Hey." 

"You watching the news right now?" Hyunwoo's voice cuts in without so much of a hello. Typical. 

"Yeah," Jaehwan leans back against his couch, "scary world." 

He isn't particularly squeamish, even though majority of the crime scene, droning with the news caster's articulate pronunciation, is blurred out. The mosaic leaves contents of the blue tarp covered in arranged colours of brown, red and black. It doesn't take much to know what lies under the mosaic. 

"Weren't you in Eunhaeng dong last night? I mean, did you see anything?" 

"No," Jaehwan says, "I was there for karaoke and I went home. No dead bodies." 

"Creepy," Hyunwoo says. 

"So, what is it?" Jaehwan cuts to the chase. He files a hand through the threads of his hair, still damp from his shower this morning. He hardly has time to really sit and chat about homicide, as much of an interesting topic it could be. 

Hyunwoo clears his throat, grainy through the speakers of Jaehwan's phone. "About that. You got quite a few callbacks from that casting party." 

"And?" 

"Fine Boys," Hyunwoo says. "They're opening an office in Seoul." 

Jaehwan feels his heart leap into his throat- He remembers Fine Boys being a popular Japanese magazine, but never would he think they would open an office in Korea. 

"Seriously?" He finds his voice shaking, "are they offering...?" 

"They want to book you for their May issue. It'll be an in page spread, but it's a start," Hyunwoo, again, drones in his monotonous reading-off-ads voice, "If they like you, they could hire you full time." 

"I see." 

Jaehwan isn't an idiot- he knows what Hyunwoo is insinuating. He winces at the thought of his treacherous hours of transit to Seoul, only to fail casting calls or get scammed. He lifts the receiver away from his face and checks the balance in his bank account. He barely has the phone back against his ear when he hears Hyunwoo cut in again. 

"I'll email you the details," he says, "If they hire you-" 

"I know," Jaehwan says, with a bit more force than he intends, "I'll figure it out." 

The response is a hum and the click of the receiver as the call ends. Jaehwan drops his phone back on the couch and stares blankly at the TV, no longer about the gruesome crime scene but now a ridiculous infomercial on fruit cutters. He knows he has work soon but he doesn't have it in him to care. His mind is racing and his hands shake – there is no certainty he will make it, but Jaehwan never has his hopes up. 

As he locks the door of his apartment shut, he makes a mental note to cancel his cable.

///

March comes by almost too quickly, and Jaehwan finds himself in front of the shiny new office of Fine Boys, an alien feeling in his bones. The building is a high rise, stretching into the blueness of sky above him. Morning breeze still whispers past his ears and he takes another breath before stepping forward through the glass doors.

The lobby is quaint but polished, with marble tiled floors and fake plants settled at the entrance. The elevator is just as quiet, mirrored walls and metal door encases Jaehwan with his own pestering thoughts. He avoids the mirrors, adjusting the straps of his backpack against his shoulders with fumbling fingers as the numbers of the floors move higher and higher. 

As he pulls open the door to the studio, he is nearly sent straight into the body of a man. He is just around Jaehwan's height, hair colour dyed a stark crimson – styled away from his forehead into flame-like tendrils. His makeup is just as sharp, minimal eyeshadow, but an array of black and gold eyeliner flecks against his temples and edges his eyes into a glare. Although Jaehwan is pretty sure it's still a glare without the makeup. The suit he wears is a navy blue, with circular punctures varying in size beside the lapels of his jacket, rimmed with spheres of metal. With his cat eyes and downward pull of his rounded lips, Jaehwan is sure he has seen him before. 

He doesn't have the opportunity to say anything though - as the red haired man, without so much of a word, pushes past him. Their shoulders bump as he passes, striding with a long fluid gait that leaks off the edges with arrogance. Jaehwan raises an eyebrow but waves it off as he enters the studio – dreadfully hoping that character is not a full time model. 

Jaehwan is proved quite wrong when Taekwoon (he overhears the name from one of the assistants) meanders back in the studio while he is in the midst of makeup. He is still wearing the same suit, but now makeup clear from his face. His eyes are still angular and returns Jaehwan's polite smile with an emotionless stare as he slips into the dressing room. Jaehwan begins to wonder if Taekwoon has no other facial expression. 

"I'm leaving," Taekwoon says, and Jaehwan has to strain his ears, for the voice that comes out of his mouth is much quieter than he had thought. It's almost an airy whisper, high pitched and laced with a sweetness that coats gum drops and bleeds pastel colours. Taekwoon is a stark contrast, wearing black slacks and equally as black sweater. The assistants and photographer bid him goodbye in Japanese – hello and goodbye being one of the only words Jaehwan knows in that language. Taekwoon steps out then, the studio door closing shut with a residual snap. 

"Lee Jaehwan right?" The photographer asks. His Korean is accented, but otherwise fluent, "You've received the email for the photoshoot concept I believe?" 

Jaehwan nods without opening his mouth as the makeup artist touches up the concealer around his lips. 

"Good," the man smiles and holds out a hand, "Yajima Hideyuki. But Yuki is fine." 

Jaehwan, now free from the makeup chair, shakes his hand, "so, vampires?" 

Yuki smiles, his eyes crinkles at the corners as he does. "Yes, almost. As close as can get to that without actual fangs." 

"Vampires without fangs?" Jaehwan asks, letting the mask of his theatrics float forward, "this is blasphemy." 

"Oh the horror," Yuki laughs, a hand hovering over his mouth, "this magazine is for general audiences after all." 

Jaehwan does feel a bit ridiculous in his over styled hair and the strangeness of the holes in the front of his suit jacket, but something in his mirrored reflection with his yellow coloured contacts completes his feral look. The stylists have sculpted his cheekbones just the way he likes it- hollow and sharp like ice. Instead of the sharp flecks that Taekwoon had, his right temple has six squared jewels glued in an upward angle. They glitter as he turns his head back and forth. 

Jaehwan bares his teeth, watching as his reflection follows- teeth straight edged and bleached white with the adhesive strips he often falls asleep in when he isn't supposed to. He is too rounded to be a creature of the night, too soft around the edges even with all the makeup. 

Even as the photoshoot ends and back is sore against the seats of the bus, he settles for a dreamless sleep that cuts into the countless sheep. 

Jaehwan almost doesn’t believe it when Fine Boys calls him back for another shoot for June.

///

**Voicemail: Feburary 17th, 3:04am**

"Hey... -oh god- are you there?" 

_Static silence_

"Hyung.. Ken-hyung please.." 

_Ruffling of movement. Phone mic is muffled._

"I fucked up I fucked up oh my god." 

_Laughter. Hysterical laughter._

"I can't believe I did that... I can't believe..." 

_Laughter dies into sobbing._

"Please help me." 

"Please." 

"Please." 

**End of Voicemail: Febuary 17th, 3:05am**

### IV.

Jaehwan moves to Seoul three days after his twentieth birthday. The apartment is small, but anything in Seoul is an upward move from his old apartment. The hardwood floors are polished and studio area is homely, decorated like it had been taken straight out of a home catalogue. He finds himself lucky to have found such a decent rent from the many ads he's scoured online. Seokjin (new roommate), who most definitely is the one who leaves Mario plushies displayed along any inch of ledge, has a warm smile that brightens even the darkest edges of their dimly lit bathroom. 

"I stream from time to time," Seokjin says as he helps bring up the last boxes of Jaehwan's belongings. "I hope you don't mind." 

"That's alright," Jaehwan says. 

It's days later when he realizes Seokjin actually streams mukbang and not video games as he had originally thought (The online ad had mentioned loud noises after all). Jaehwan takes to locking himself into his room or leaving the building for a few hours whenever Seokjin streams. Although Jaehwan is sure Seokjin has a problem with him smoking on the balcony so he guesses it's even. 

Jaehwan takes his time adjusting to Seoul, constantly at the Fine Boys building to finalize paperwork. It's strange to have something more stable rather than picking up odd jobs and potentially risky gigs here and there, but he'd take it over the latter any day. 

"The reception of our May issue had very good ratings," Go Sinwoo, Jaehwan's new manager, has his computer monitor turned towards him, pointing at the upwards increase of numbers that Jaehwan doesn't have enough time to fully comprehend. He's exhausted, eyes still bleary and red rimmed from lack of sleep and limbs under his grey sweatshirt aching form the exhaustion of unpacking box after box. 

He does, however, remember looking at the in page spread of the May issue. The two photos took over both consecutive pages, set quite apart from the usual white artistic back drops of the other segments. On the left is Taekwoon, yellow eyes narrowed into his signature icy stare, his hair a pool of fire that burns into the gloss of the pages. Jaehwan is on the right side. He notices they chose a profile shot, accentuating the curves of his nose (in which they obviously photoshopped it smaller). In sharp white letters beside either side of them, their names are credited: Ken. Leo. Jaehwan isn't too sure why he needed a nickname for the company but he figures his childhood nickname works fine. The backdrop is a stark blackness that stretches behind them, and the moon curving above. It doesn't exactly look like two vampires, but Jaehwan thinks it's alright once he's ripped out the right page. 

"The company would like to continue this as an official segment," Sinwoo continues, cutting across the daydream that floats behind Jaehwan's eyes, "we want to push out a new line: FANTASY being a tentative title." 

Jaehwan nods, letting the new information work into the gears of his mind, "is this going to be a permanent segment?" 

"If it does well, yes," Sinwoo turns his monitor back towards him on the white painted wooden desk to click a few keys, "we'd like you to do another test run shoot with Taekwoon. If this casting works well, we'll stick with you two." 

"Okay," Jaehwan finds himself saying. He doesn't exactly like Taekwoon, but working with a tough character isn't exactly new to him. He figures he might as well do his job: bad impressions behind him. 

But when he's face to face with none other than Jung Taekwoon during their first costume fitting, he's not entirely sure of what to say. 

Jaehwan shifts uncomfortably in his all too tight skinny jeans, rimmed around the thighs with extra seams and ripped notches down to the knees. There isn't a need for a belt but the stylist hands him one anyway, silver and a thin piece of leather that he pulls to the tightest notch. His jacket is long sleeved, no buttons after the first four, leaving a long slit of skin from the mid of his chest. He glances over at Taekwoon, who looks a lot more comfortable in equally black attire, but with black low crotched slacks that hangs two long tendrils of fabric on either side of his legs. His shirt is a sleeveless v-collared button up, a way more modest alternative than Jaehwan's sliver of skin. Without makeup, he can't really tell what this photoshoot has in store. 

"What concept do you think this will be?" Jaehwan asks, more to challenge whether he will actually get a response than anything else. 

Taekwoon purses his lips – he looks a lot less intimidating with black hair and sans makeup, but the tapered edges of his eyes are still sharpened edges of a knife. It takes a moment, but the response is a half hearted shrug. Jaehwan fights the urge to throw a punch into Taekwoon's nonchalant face. It's around ten minutes later, when the assistants are done sticking pins into the fabric of his jacket that he gets a proper response. 

"Jekyll and Hyde," Taekwoon says, as he peels the button up off his pale abdomen. Jaehwan turns around, buttons slippery under his fingers. 

"Oooh scary," Jaehwan successfully slips out of the jacket and reaches for the second costume, white this time. "It suits you, Taekwoon." 

He has barely any time to register the warm hand that wraps around the back of his neck, thin fingers pinching into the skin. Jaehwan flinches at the brush of hair that tickles his bare shoulder. 

"That's Taekwoon-hyung," Taekwoon says, his quiet voice never truly matching the vice grip at the base of Jaehwan's neck. Jaehwan instinctively shrinks his neck inwards, shoulders upraised at the touch. 

"Oh you're definitely Mr. Hyde," Jaehwan jeers, letting a grin find its way onto his face, "my scary Hyung is perfect for a role like this." 

Just like that, the grip is released. He turns just as Taekwoon stalks out of the dressing room, hands balled into fists and face crimson. Huh, Jaehwan thinks, that he might have made his first co-worker hate his guts.

///

"You're home late," Seokjin chides as Jaehwan pulls the apartment door shut. He is sprawled on the couch, eyes rimmed with thick glasses and wrapped in his favourite pink throw blanket – laptop playing full force into a fight scene of Naruto. Jaehwan can never fully get used to the whole rommate arrangement.

"Yeah," Jaehwan says as he unlaces his sneakers, "long day at work." 

"I bet," Seokjin pauses his anime to turn towards his roommate. "Are you hungry? I ordered in Chinese, so I left some in the fridge for you." 

"Oh," Jaehwan shoves his shoes onto their welcome rack, "I ate already, but thanks." 

Seokjin hums and turns his attention back to Naruto. 

"Don't you have exams coming up soon?" 

"Shh, Sasuke needs to come back to village." Seokjin scoots over on the couch as Jaehwan settles down beside him. 

"Tsk. What would your mother say?" 

"Shut up and let me enjoy my cheat day in peace." 

Jaehwan laughs to disguise the grumbling in the pit of his stomach, bubbling like a disease ready to eat him whole. The Chinese takeout left untouched in the fridge.

**Author's Note:**

> each update includes two chapters.
> 
>  
> 
> ★
> 
> bean-p
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/bean_prince) // [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/bean-prince)


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